


How the Squier Troy Became A Profyte to a Grete Manye Men

by strix_alba



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Canterbury Tales AU, Gen, Middle English
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4561272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strix_alba/pseuds/strix_alba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being an excerpt from <i>The Dedes of the Grene Dale Pilgrims And Their Holy Pilgrimauge to Caunterbury. </i>Squire Troy and Abed the Innkeeper's Son take a detour to visit the tomb of their favorite hero, and Troy fixes a chamber pot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How the Squire Troy Became A Prophet to A Great Many Men

**Author's Note:**

> Ages ago, I came up with a [Canterbury Tales AU of Community](http://strix-alba.tumblr.com/post/40653531780/communitycanterbury-tales-fusion), and embarked on a sad attempt to emulate early fifteenth-century English. I based my grammar largely off of Chaucer, with the help of [a few](http://www.pbm.com/~lindahl/concise/concise.html) [dictionaries](http://www.gutenberg.org/files/10625/10625-h/dict1.html); but I also read Margery Kempe’s autobiography between rounds of editing, and she influenced my spelling quite a bit; so basically, if you study Middle English beyond the “half-dozen classes in undergrad” level, then this is probably going to be painful to read. Everyone else can suck it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter is the modern English translation of the second chapter.

It came to pass that the gentle pilgrims came to a town in South England called Frome, and arrived before noon. When they saw the roof of the town church, everyone gave a great cheer.

“I think it’s funny,” said the Prioress, who was called Shirley. “You’re all so pleased to see the church, but only because it means we’re at a town again. I haven’t seen one of you set foot inside a church since we started this pilgrimage except for the Clerk.”

At this everyone in the company groaned aloud. “You’re forgetting the church in Galliv,” said Geoffrey.

“Where we rescued many children from the fire in the pews of the holy place,” said Britta the Nun. “That seems holy enough that Christ would readily forgive us, even if you will not.”

“Did not you and the Man of Law start the fire in the church? There was a candle,” — asked the son of the innkeeper, whose name was Abed.

“I know not of what you speak,” said Geoffrey quickly.

Annie the Clerk then spoke in a voice like a mouse. “I like what you propose. It seems to me that we would all be very glad to visit this church before we go to the inn. Am I right, everyone?”

All were silent, save for the melodies of the birds above.

“I will go with you myself,” she said to Shirley, who had been wan and now smiled again.

“I thank you, my friend.” Shirley clasped her hand.

“And I,” said Friar Pierce.

Shirley seemed unhappy. “I would not have you make yourself uncomfortable,” she said.

The squire Troy and the son of the innkeeper spoke in unison. “We will not go to the church when our company arrives in the town.”

“There is a little chapel out of the town which we seek,” explained Troy.

“Saint Aelfgar of Selwood was buried there, and there rest his bones,” said Abed.

Geoffrey was suspicious. “I have never heard of Saint Aelfgar,” he said.

“You do not know that he was real? You who are so wise and full of holiness, you should know that,” said Abed.

“Maybe I have more worthy things to consider,” said Geoffrey. And Abed said nothing.

Everyone decided that the Prioress, the Clerk, and the Friar would go to the church of Frome. The Man of Law and the Nun would go to the town and find lodging for the weary pilgrims, who had earlier that day quarreled with the Cook, Starburns, and his company. Meanwhile, the Squire and the Innkeeper’s Son would make their way to pray to Saint Aelfgar, and join their friends in the evening.

So they went to the chapel in the forest outside town. By chance, shortly after they came upon a well. While Abed drank from the well, Troy gazed about at their surroundings. He saw a pot lying broken on the ground by the well. He picked the pot up from the ground and laid mud in the cracks to fix the pot. He put it back where he found it.

Then Abed was finished drinking, so they continued. Troy did not see the man, dressed all in grey, who came out of the woods and stared at the pottery in astonishment. Nor did the two worthy pilgrims see the man follow them, summoning with him a great company of men. The squire and the innkeeper’s son arrived at the tomb of St. Aelfgar of Selwood shortly. They were stuck with awe.

“This is the place,” said Abed.

“The original badass.”

“I’ve heard that he fought off sixteen highwaymen using only a palm branch.”

“Badass.”

Having spoken thus, they contemplated the chapel. They did not see the man in grey behind them.  
“Hail!” said he.

Hearing this, Troy and Abed were mightily confused.

“Uh, yes. Hail Jesus!” said Troy.

“Hail the man who has repaired the holy chamber pot. True disciple of the Great Repairman!”

“What?” said Troy.

From out of the woods appeared fully six and thirty men in grey. And Troy was filled with fear. “Hail,” they all said.

“The holy chamber pot is the greatest relic of Somerset. It was said that it was made by St. Aelfgar himself, the founder of our order. We are the Greyfriars.”

Abed the innkeeper’s son spoke. “You don’t look like Franciscans.”

There was much murmuring amongst the men who surrounded them. “Different Greyfriars,” said the man in grey angrily. “I am Brother Layabourne, the head of our order. But I am not the True Potter. Long has it been prophesied that the man who could repair the Holy Chamber Pot of St. Aelfgar would come. I had not dared to hope it would be in my lifetime.”

Neither of the pilgrims to Canterbury spoke. Abed said to himself, “This is very strange. I don’t like it. I have heard rumors of the Greyfriars. Troy would never become one of them. Still, we should leave as soon as possible, before they act against us. We began this journey to Canterbury together, and we must finish it together. That is how the story should go.” Meanwhile, Troy said to himself, “The chamber pot of St. Aelfgar? Does that mean that he made it or that he used it? One is cool, the other is a little weird. Huh. I hope that Britta and Geoff find an inn with clean chamber pots.”

Brother Layabourne could not hear any of this. He saw them silent and thought they were in awe. “You must come with us now,” he said to Troy. “Come and fulfill your destiny. Lead us: we will follow you.”

Troy thought on it. He liked the idea of being the heir to his favorite saint. He remembered that he had a bed waiting for him, and he remembered that he had promised his friends that he would go to Canterbury with them. “I thank you, but I will not,” he said. “Come on, Abed. I’m hungry.”

Abed was greatly relieved, though his face remained as stone. “Cool. Cool cool cool.”

They left the chapel of St. Aelfgar and wended through the woods back to the town. They met their friends at the inn. Britta and Geoff argued about whether lambs had souls. Pierce tried to pay for the Prioress’s dinner, and Shirley smote him.

“How was the chapel?” Annie asked.

“Interesting,” said Troy.

“I didn’t like it,” said Abed.

Meanwhile, at the chapel, Brother Layabourne prayed to St. Aelfgar for advice. After, he spoke to the Greyfriars. “The time will come. Troy of Barnes will return to us and show us the true way of the chamber pot repairman. Until then, we must spread the word. The True Potter is here.”

“Hail,” said the friars.

And so the word was spread. And many people came to believe.


	2. How the Squire Troy Became A Prophet to A Great Many Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the original Middle English version.

Bifel yt that the gentil pilgrims to a toun in sothe Engelonde highte Frome ycomen, and aryven afore the sonne had reched his heighest aspect. Whan seyen thei the roof of the cherche, everichon maken grete chere.

“Me thynketh it straunge,” seyde the Prioress, who was y-cleped Shirley. “Yow liste it schewe the cherche oonli for that it meneth we been sone in a toun agayne, yet I hadde not sene eny soule no but the Clerke ouer-fare the threschwold of eny chapele ne croucheth sith we this pilgrimage began.”

At this, everichon in the companye loude ygredden. “Ye foryeteth the cherche in Galliv,” quod Geoffrey.

“Theras we manye mene childer rescouen of the fer that brenned the benches in that holie oratorye,” seyde Britta the Nun. “Me thynketh we be holie ynow that Criste that died on a tre wol moot foryave us, even an ye wol not.”

“Doon ye and the Man of Lawe not sterten the fer in the cherche? Ther was a caundle,” — asked the sonne of the innkeeper, him which highte Abed.

“Ich yknow not of what ye spaketh,” timliche seyd Geoffrey.

Annie the Clerke than spaketh in a voys yliche a mose. “I lyke that ye moueth. Me semeth it we wolde alle ben ful cheren and this cherche to wende afore we to the inne goon. Acorden, everichon?”

Alle was swien no but the melodye that maken the briddes aboue.

“I wol myselven go with yow,” spake sche to Shirley, which hadde ypalled, and now ysmyled agayne.

“Amyable frend, I thanke thee.” Shirley y-clapse hir hand.

“Eek I,” quod Frere Pierce.

Shirley semed ungladdened. “I wolde nat ye disconforte,” seyde sche.

The squier Troy and the sonne of the innkeeper spaken asaunce the were one. “We wil nat go to the church whan our companye aryven.”

“Ther is a littel chapel out the town which we seke,” bi-legge Troy.

“Seint Ælfgar of Selwood was yburied ther, an ther resten his bones,” seyde Abed.

Geoffrey was right skeymowse. “Neuere hath I herde of enny Seint Ælfgar,” seyde he.

“Wostow nat that he was real? Yow shold knowe, yow that be so wys and ful of holynesse,” quod Abed.

“Perchaunce mo worthy thyngs stonden in myne eighen,” spake Geoffrey. And Abed naught seyde.

Forward maden everichon that the Prioresse, the Clerk, and the Frere wold to the cherche of Frome yeden. The Man of Law and the Nun wold yeden til the toune, to finden hostel for the wery pilgrims, which had er the day quereled wit the Cooke, Starburns, and hys companye. Mene, the Squier and the Inkeeper’s Sonne wold wenden to prey to Seint Ælfgar, and joynen hir frendes in eventide.

So wenden thei to the chapel in the grene wode out the toune. And by aventure shortlich thei hapt upon a well. While Abed dranc at the well, Troy laited at hir environs. He seigh a chamber pot breked on the ground bi the well. Ypyked he the pot fro the ground and yleyed laire in the crakes. An the pot was cleynt. He yputte yt bak wher yt he espied.

Abed was ydoon drinking, and forthy thei went on.

Troy did nat se the forme, atyred alle in grey, who ycomed out the grene wode and ygloped at the cleynt pot in grete stoniynge. Ne did the two gentil pylgrims gliffen wane the lyf ysewed them, sompnyng wit hym a grete companye of men. The lyf an his secte ysewed withoute soun.

The Squier and the Inkeeper’s Sonne aryved atte sepulture of Seint Ælfgar o Selwode shortliche. Thei were gerten with awe.

“Yt is the stede,” quod Abed.

“The ferst puysaunce.”

“I have herde that he faught sixteen out-lawes with only a palm.”

“Puyssant.”

Havyng spaken thus, thei avysed the chapel, an repairen to the oratorye. So biseyen, thei agayn did nat se the lyf in grey bihynde.

“Hail!” seyd he.

Troy and Abed weren greteliche mased.

“…Aye? Hail Jesu Criste?” seyd Troy.

“Hail the man which hath soutered the holi chamber pot. Trewe diciple o the Grete Astoreman!”

“Wat?” axed Troy.

Fro oot the grene wode yronnen sondry wode folk y-dressed in gris. Troy was full of dred. “Hail,” quod everichon.

“The holie chamber pot is the gretest seintuarie o Somerset. Yt is seyd Seint Ælfgar hymself was the auctour, he which founden oure ordre. We been the Greyfreres.”

The Inkeeper’s Sonne spake. “Ye semeth nat Franciscans.”

Ther was moch groynyng a-monges the companye which them bisetten. “Other Greyfreres,” quod the lyf in grey, ful wroth. “I be Frere Layabourne, abbod of our ordre. Bot I be nat the Trewe Pottere. Fern was yt profesied the pottere which coude astore the Holie Chamber Pot o Seint Ælfgar wolle aryven. I ne dorste hopen yt wolle be in my lyf-day.”

Nother pylgrim to Caunterbury spaken. Seyd Abed to hymself, “Yt is ful straunge. I liken it not. I have herde tales of the Greyfreres. Troy wolle never bicomen one o hem. Ne-for-thi, we most bileven anon, er they manacen us. We bigan the pylgrimage to Caunterbury iferen, an we scholde reche yt iferen. That is the cours of our geste.” Mene, Troy seyd to hiself, “The chamber pot o Seint Ælfgar? Meneth he that the seint was its auctour o that he usen yt? One ys alowable, the other ys wlatsom. I hope Britta an Geoff finden an inne with clene chamber pots.”

Abbod Layabourne coude nat heren eny of hir thoghts. He seien hem swine an thought they weren awed. “Ye most comen with us anon,” quod he to Squier Troy. “Come an fulfil thy werd. Leden an we wil ye folwen.”

Troy mused on yt. He lyked the conceit that he were heir to hir observed seint. Eft he menge that he hadde a bedde that hem awaited, an he menge that he hadde bi-heten hir frendes that he with hem to Caunterbury wolde wenden. “I thonke ye, but we wil not,” he seyde to Abbod Layabourne. “Come, Abed. I hungre.”

Abed likened this gretly, al hir visage were yet stoon-stille. “Gentil. Most gentil, most gentil.”

Thei for-leten the chapel of Seint Ælfgar an wenden lithe the wode ageyne to the toune. An thei meten hir frenden atte inne. Britta an Geoff quereled abouten wher lombs haven sowles. Frere Pierce seche abye the Prioress’s soper, an Shirley smote him.

“What maked ye of the hous of Seint Ælfgar?” axed Annie.

“Straunge,” seyde Troy.

“It liked me not,” quod Abed. Ne mo spaked he of yt ageyn.

Mene, atte chapel, Frere Layabourne preyed unto Seint Ælfgar, besekyng em for avyse. Eft wych y-spaked he to the Greyfreres. “The time will come. Troy of Barnes will repair to us an gye us to the trewe pas of the chamber pot astoreman. Until that tyme, we most kythen the worde to alle men. The Trewe Pottere is here.”

“Hail,” quod the freres.

And so the worde was spaken yn meny straunge an fer laundes. An meny gentilfolk ha comen to leyve.


End file.
